


It's just a fucking sickfic like I'm not even gonna bother

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, I chime in with a hasn't Minkowski ever heard of... telling her girlfriend she's sick, that's right! It's ya girl back with some short sickfic, vomit mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 22:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle





	It's just a fucking sickfic like I'm not even gonna bother

The door slams and Lovelace’s voice echoes through the house, loud even through the bathroom door. “Baaaaaabe! I’m home!” From where she kneels on the cold tile floor Minkowski can practically feel the noise cutting through her head like a thousand-degree knife through styrofoam, and she winces. _Damn,_ she thinks. _Thought I had more time._ But Lovelace’s footsteps are coming up the hallway, and her voice is getting louder. “Minkowski? Commander, where are you? Big night, big times, big… everything! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Minkowski takes a deep breath, then pushes herself slowly to her feet. The room pounds and swirls around her and her knees threaten to buckle, but she catches herself on the porcelain edge of the sink. Bile rises in her throat and she swallows it down, shaking her head. Then she reaches out and flushes her vomit down the toilet. Lovelace’s footsteps stop when she does, and she knocks on the door. “Minkowski? You in there?”

“Yeah,” croaks Minkowski. She swallows and tries again. “Yeah, hang on.” She turns the faucet on briefly, then opens the door to Lovelace, looking at her. “Hey, love. How are you?”

Lovelace opens her mouth to answer, then pauses, her forehead wrinkling. “Minkowski, are you okay? You don’t… look so good.”

“I’m--” The world jerks sharply, and Minkowski feels herself sway dangerously. “I’m fine, I just--” Blackness starts creeping in on her vision, and her head gives a throbbing wrench, enough to make her gasp. “Catch me,” she manages, right before her knees give out and she falls into the darkness.

* * *

When Minkowski wakes up, she’s in a dark room with Lovelace sitting by her bedside, whispering frantically on the phone. “--I _know_ your restaurant is always full, but I swear to god I will offer you a hundred dollars if you reschedule. Two hundred-- _three hundred dollars,_ I swear to god. In cash.” She pauses. “Alright, then cancel it! And screw you too!” She takes her phone away from her face, muttering. “Jerk.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” rasps Minkowski, reaching out. “We’ve been planning that for weeks. Lovelace…”

“You’re awake,” says Lovelace quietly. “And yes, I should have done that. Minkowski, you look like shit. You’re not leaving the house, we’ll reschedule our plans. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Minkowski struggles up onto her elbows, trying to sit up. “I’m _fine!_ I promise, I just need to eat probably. Let me up and maybe we can still make it.”

Lovelace puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back down gently. “Nuh-uh. We’re not going to go out, babe. You’re going to lie there, and quite frankly there’s nothing you can do about it because right now I can _make_ you lie there. Understand?”

Despite herself, Minkowski is a little relieved when she says that. That relief is immediately followed by a tide of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Lovelace.”

“About what?” Lovelace looks genuinely confused. “Babe, you’re sick. It’s not like you have any control over that. And if you don’t want to do this because you think it’s somehow an inconvenience for me, please consider that I’m happy when you’re happy and I don’t like seeing you in pain. Making you go out like this would just put you in pain, and believe it or not, I don’t like that.”

Minkowski sighs. “You’re right, you’re right.” She closes her eyes as the pain in her head spikes, wincing. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too.” Soft lips touch Minkowski’s forehead, and a hand smooths her hair back from her face. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No,” whispers Minkowski. “No. Just… stay with me?”

“Always, angel. Always.”


End file.
